It’s been three days now
as you pilot to the other side.
You took off like a rocket
but the soul slows down
to the speed of life
without a body.
You’ve got a lot to ponder
but plenty of time.
You didn’t want to say goodbye
but we all must,
confused, distraught,
with tears to guide you.
You ran out of fuel
and there’s no way
you’d ride without style.
Not sure if there are bass guitars
or corvettes over there
but I feel you honing in
on the welcome you deserve.
You cut the board straight,
played the music,
laughed at all the fools
and kept time for the band
in your fearless register.
You can lay down arms brother
but the journey’s far from over.
10-4 good buddy.
Let’s stay in touch.

Dennis Holstun Lopez
RIP

Ancients rise through morning light
with open sky on the green land.
They bring unwritten stories,
unheard songs, coming
for the ceremony of remembrance.
The new world waits
across the river of grief
in the circle of initiation
where forgiveness flowers.
Fire falls, the future brightens
as the sunlit beauty of what will be
emerges from the mist
to an Earth full with gladness.

Circling around like fish in a pond
thoughts wander through people and events
until returning to silence;
one with the trees and evening sky
red with the blush of the Creator.

photograph by Patrick Orleman

Broken and bent
I enter the gray morning,
the earth sore
and melancholy
by dreams dashed
on the barren shores
of mediocrity.
The surface of the sea
breaks in waves
yet down below
the waters are calm,
where turtles swim
without haste.
When I drop into this depth
I too am carried
by the silence of the deep,
the waters beneath the wave.

photo by Michel Gunther